origin of symmetry
by xfucktheglasses
Summary: You blow my amplifiers. —SasuKiba.


OTP OTP OTP OTP OTP

**origin of symmetry**

It was dark.

The loft, it was dark. The moon did a wonderful job at giving it a faint, ghastly glow through the bare windows of his small loft. Sasuke stared at the hardwood floor as he sat in a corner, back pressed against the nook where the two walls met, and strummed the faint melody of one of his favorite songs.

There was an angry rug burn the length of his pale forearm and he had no idea how it got there.

And there was someone on his bed; but that was different. He knew who that someone was and that someone was always crashing at his place, sleeping next to him and stealing all the covers.

Sasuke strummed at the guitar strings and decided he'd ask the stupid fool about his rug burn, later.

.

.

.

When he woke up, Sasuke had a vague idea that it was way passed noon. But all he _really_ cared about was getting out of bed, walking down the stairs and hanging his guitar back up on the wall, with the others.

He'd left it – his favorite one – on the ground, before going back into bed. Sasuke hated leaving his guitars on the ground. It drove him crazy; what if they chipped? What if they broke? What if they were stepped on? The thought of there not being anyone other than himself – and occasionally, his stupid friends… And Kiba, that idiot, too – to cause any stepping over expensive guitars, paused and recoiled at the known fact of being unwanted.

To get to the small half of a wall that stood facing the windows, he had to pass his kitchen and what he dubbed half-of-a-second-living-room. Weird design, his loft had, he mused for the nth time in his life. There were about three steel poles within the small place ("Heh, yer secre'ly a pole dancer, I _knew_ it. Pay up, fuckers.") and half of walls with small gaps in them.

At least it was nice and small, he added.

He skipped the last step of the seven-step-stairs and ignored his bare feet padding on the hardwood, when he caught sight of something from his peripheral vision.

Sasuke paused and turned to stare as Kiba entertained a bowl of cereal, messy hair everywhere and shadowing his face.

He figured he should start charging him rent; the fucker was always here.

Kiba looked up at him, stared for a second before giving a head nudge. "'Sup."

Sasuke rolled his eyes and resumed his walk, stepping down the step to get to the living room and turning the small corner where his amplifiers were. He paused, again, this time at the lack of a guitar lying on the ground; rather, all the guitars were hanging on the wall. All four of them. The black-and-white one, the red-and-white one, the navy-and-black and, his favorite and the one that floated back up to its place, the all black one.

Raising an eyebrow, Sasuke leaned back to spare a glance at Kiba. He was staring back at him, through the corner of his eyes, munching on his cereal. He only stared for a while before he shrugged and looked away.

.

.

.

There was food everywhere, on the table of the booth they occupied.

Sasuke dipped fries into ranch and listened as Suigetsu and Naruto both retold the story of yet another night of their drinking and stupidities. They haven't gotten to the part where it would explain why Sasuke had more rug burns – angrier than the last – on his ribcage and his back.

Something told him he didn't really want to know, though.

So he didn't ask.

.

.

.

"Oi, prick!"

Sasuke didn't move, from his couch.

The door was still opened as Kiba came inside the house, sporting his navy mechanic's jumpsuit. It was dirty with grease and oil and so were his arms and hands and Sasuke stared at him from over the top of the book he was holding, face blank. He had a vague idea why the idiot was there.

He was always there, but that was different.

This time, he was gonna force Sasuke to come with him to the 'shop and Sasuke didn't want to go.

He _hated_ the shop.

The last time he went, it took him hours to take the grease off and he lost a perfectly good shirt along with it.

"I'm talking to you, douche!"

Sasuke continued to stare at him, blankly. "Speak."

"Come help me give your old truck a paint job." Kiba crossed his arms in front of his chest, his eyes on Sasuke and waiting for him to decline.

It took him a minute or two but Sasuke was soon blinking, brow furrowing as he said, "What the fuck, I do _not_ want to paint that thing. Get out."

In a matter of seconds, Kiba was right in front of him, snatching at Sasuke's wrists and throwing the book onto the armchair and dragging him off the couch and to the front door.

Sasuke was glaring, translucent electricity jolting through them.

.

.

.

They sat around an old, thick and enormous monster truck tire, on old grungy armchairs without legs.

They were dirtied with grease and oil and other things Sasuke didn't want to think about. His eyes were on his nails, trying to pick out the dirt under them and not at all paying attention to the beer in front of him.

"I _told_ you that garbage needs more than one coating," he drawled, his peripheral vision catching Kiba grab at another slice of pizza.

Kiba shrugged, "So we'll give it another coat."

"I hate you."

They stared at each other.

.

.

.

Sasuke was outside, on the front porch of another house of some person he didn't care about, who just so happened to be throwing a house party filled with alcohol.

He was leaning his right side against the wooden pole holding the porch's ceiling up, one leg crossed at the ankle and a cigarette in between his lips. He stared at the infinite amount of cars parked on the front lawn and all around the place; their owners would probably be too fucked up to even drive home, tonight, anyway.

Had Sasuke been sober, he'd of broken into one and just sat there, on the driver's seat.

Sometimes, he hated leaving his apartment without his car.

He exhaled the nicotine, his hand swirling his red party plastic cup as he brought it to his lips.

The house was too crowded for his taste; there were girls degrading themselves, guys abusing their inebriation and sloppy kisses everywhere. There was vomit on the ground, on the walls and in the air as well as sex, sweat and smoke. Sasuke was normally used to it all, given how he was always dragged around by his stupid friends (not to mention that the alcohol always called his name). But tonight it was just something he didn't want to deal with.

The breeze was cool, tonight, Sasuke decided, just as the front door was opened and someone walked to stand beside him.

Kiba was wasted; eyes glassy and grin sloppy.

Sasuke stared at him, flicking the cigarette butt in the air so it'd fall and lie on the lawn with all the rest.

"'Sup."

Sasuke just continued to stare at him from over the rim of his cup, and didn't say anything at all.

.

.

.

He woke up in the middle of the night, on his bed, no clue how he got back and with someone on the other side of him.

Sasuke looked over.

There were cigarette burns on the bedsheets and on Kiba's body.

He smirked.

.

.

.

It was quiet between the two as they continued to work on the old truck.

Nothing was said.

Rug and cigarette burns glared at each other as Sasuke and Kiba worked on opposites sides.

There was a cig in between Sasuke's lips and a smirk holding it up.

The 'shop was quiet but the smirk was rather loud. He didn't quite know why he was smirking; or maybe he did and he just didn't care. Kiba would stare at him every three minutes, when he would think Sasuke was distracted. But they both knew each other like the back of their hands and Sasuke was never really distracted by anything.

The hours passed by like the pages of a photo album, with nothing said between the two and Kings Of Leon playing in the background.

It wasn't until Kiba turned to look at him again, and Sasuke was staring back at him, blankly, that the barrier broke.

"You're a douche," Kiba said, shaking his head and fighting off a grin.

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.

.

Sasuke leaned against his amplifier, strumming the beat of the song they'd been listening to the earlier in the night.

Kiba was upstairs, sleeping.

.

.

.

They sat on the back of the new decent looking truck, a small cooler and a box of pizza in between them.

Both were soiled with paint and with grease and with dirt and oil and Sasuke was itching to remove his dirty shirt. But they both sat there, quiet and eating and drinking their beers.

It was chilly outside, but they didn't mind; the moon was in its Crescent stage and the stars refused to come out tonight, hiding behind thick clouds. The trees whispered, ominously, into the distance and a stray car would pass by every ten minutes. Muse was playing, in the background and everything was as chill as the air around them.

Sasuke looked up and stared at Kiba.

Kiba stared back at him.

"You blow my amplifiers," Sasuke said.

It was quiet.

Kiba nodded.


End file.
